Diamonds, Loose (Ryden)

Part 3

Fast-forward a couple of days and that makes it a Friday, specifically one where the majority percentage of the school is in high spirits and sunny moods, smiles brought on by a small change in temperature that means no more unusual November scarves in the city, just some clouds and a light breeze that's easy to deal with as the sun breaks through weakly. Personally, I'm feeling pretty damn happy. If I don't think about home. So I just don't.

The day after I slept at Spencer's, I went to school straight from his house, and back to his again afterwards. I didn't have to ask permission; he just steered me onto the school bus and yanked me to my feet (in the most caring way) when we got to his street, instead of leaving me there to carry on to mine. Once I'd been there for about forty-five minutes, though, my mom called, saying a simple, "Your dad's gone out. Come home, have some dinner." So I did. Ate in tense awkwardness, went to bed and to sleep before he came in.

Yesterday, the next day after that, everything was relatively normal. A sort of calm has settled, now, the way it does after he explodes like that; he retreats, like he's unsure or wary of his luck running out so instead he quits while he's ahead. I'll never understand it, and frankly, I don't give a shit. All I know is he shrinks back in on himself – still drinks, always drinks, but it's like he's resigned to it, giving himself over and just surveying me with dull, lifeless eyes before wordlessly dismissing me and turning back to the bottle at hand.

So, yeah. Today, I'm just looking ahead and not behind me, not acknowledging the place I had to come from this morning, and I'm feeling good. School, I know how to handle school. I can do this part.

Pete, on the other hand, seems to be the only one not smiling. Well, he was smiling his ass off like normal, all through Latin and Math and Gym, and presumably every other subject – until the one before lunch. Because, in Geography, about ten minutes in, Pete was hauled out of the class by the principal, Gardner. Literally hauled by the scruff of his dark, fairly tattered blazer, while Gardner growled out something about, "We're going to have a little talk, Peter." The guy's pretty much built like the Hulk, only, like, a little less green and with added rusty-orange curls atop his head, and he's not exactly something you miss easily, so the whole class was staring, gaping.

The last thing I saw as he was dragged out of the classroom was Pete's black-lined eyes wider than normal with fear and confusion, and after a mouthed, "What the fuck?" he was gone for the rest of the lesson.

"I'm gonna fucking kill someone." Now, Pete's slumped down on one of the cold steps at the side of the school, the part no one bothers to go at recess. We're all here, sitting or sprawling or leaning, and all somewhat gathered around Pete. "Don't think I'm joking. Fuck, what're my parents gonna say?"

William coughs and begins tentatively, "Are you sure they're going to be inform—"

"He said he'd call them ASAP, didn't he?" Pete snaps, and William wisely closes his mouth. "Fuck," Pete says, "this is bullshit. Who even rats people out for smoking? Smoking? Everyone goddamn smokes."

"Not everyone," Jon points out lazily from where he's stretched out along the top step, chewing gum in the most unconcerned way and looking at the sky.

"Shut up, Walker," Gabe drawls. He looks at Pete, eyes narrowed. "You know who told on your ass?"

Pete breaks into a grin, not a happy one, more one full of a sarcastic cynicism that says yeah, and I can't believe it's not obvious. It's accompanied by a little disbelieving shake of his head, and he raises his eyebrows as he murmurs darkly, "I think I can guess."

"Who?" I ask, curious now.

"Brendon Urie."

I almost want to scream, because why the fuck does he have to crop up in every single thing I do, every step I take in this godforsaken town? Fucking hell. Brendon fucking Urie.